Puzzle Pieces
by Lady M28
Summary: Mid-FNAFF, Rory & Logan reconnect. Starts with "Boy when you're on..." and goes from there.


**AN**: As always, much thanks to my beta, **fulfilled** she made everything I wrote so much better. All mistakes are mine, and not her fault. Not sure what else to say, I wrote this because it was something I wanted to read, which didn't exist. That's generally how I end up writing stuff like this. Hope you enjoy.

**Disclaimer**: Don't own then, never have, never will.

**Puzzle Pieces**

"Boy, when you're on…" you smile and chuckle as he hands you a sandwich, an Italian sub, you discover when you open it - your favorite. He's always been good at the grand romantic gestures, but you have sometimes wondered if he realizes that it's the little things, those he can't buy, that made you fall in love with him. Those little puzzle pieces of your soul that he helped reveal through his sense of whimsy and adventure, and the fact that he gets you at times unlike anyone you've ever met.

But then maybe he does know - he went to see your mother, after all. This little dinner, which he'd had to get someone to help him with on the fly after circumstances had intruded on his pre-made plans while he was hip deep in paper stuff, meant more than the fabulous place you know he made reservations for tonight. It took a little work, but not much money, and therefore, it meant more, because nothing that costs money is ever hard for Logan.

"Thanks," he smiles after uncorking the wine and pouring you a glass. "I know how cranky you get when you're hungry."

"That's true," you laugh. "I guess that's one advantage to going on a first date that's not really a first date. You already know my habits, or most of them."

"I'm a willing slave to them, if you'll let me be," he smiles, causing you to take a larger-than-normal bite - you need something to chew on. He's always been an attentive boyfriend, once the two of you got together, not seeming to look back with any regrets to the lifestyle he made the decision to leave behind so quickly; but it's still going to take you some time to get used to the full frontal assault of Logan Huntzberger, in love. He approaches life in a bold and fearless manner that at times takes your breath away, like the morning he decided to commit to you, turning on a dime, making you to attempt to slow things down just so you could catch up. You need that time now, because it seems you're now the ground zero of Logan's focused romantic determination, he has decided, or realized, he is in love with you, making winning you back the bull's-eye he's determined to hit.

It has been hard enough to resist, once it started, but the weeks of no communication and the pain of being dismissed through a phone call from his sister has fueled your determination to not give in. But then, there is the note from your mother, which means he braved her wrath and humbled himself, to make sure no stone is unturned in his quest to win you back. Sure, Dean went to her for help on occasion, but your mom always liked him, even making an effort during the re-dux debacle. Logan knew all along she didn't really care for him, and then he managed to make the worst possible impression on her, over and over again. His running the Mommy gauntlet got your attention like nothing else could have, adding in donuts just helped remind you just how well he knows you. And then tonight, something he would have resisted a year ago, but which he didn't even try to talk you out of. Instead, he jumped in, working side by side with you to save something he barely cares about, but which he knows you do passionately. You've tried to convince yourself, and him, that he did it for the greater cause, but you've known all along he did it for you. And you know the warmth that engulfed your body from the intense, yet full-of-wonder look in his soft brown eyes after you kissed him; you're already falling back under his spell. You need to go slowly; the two of you have a lot of ground to cover.

After swallowing and taking a sip of wine, you decide to sidestep, "Thank you for what you did tonight. I know this isn't your favorite thing."

"No, it's not," he admits. "But I think you know I didn't do it for me, I did it for you."

"I know," you murmur, blushing, and you do. But you also know he loves the adrenaline rush of a fast-approaching deadline - that's Logan.

"Even if I wanted to," he continues, "I couldn't let Bill and the walk-outs win. Paris is still your friend and roommate, even if I don't like where you live currently. If the paper really didn't get out or something equally disastrous, it would have made things horrible for you at home. You do realize, though, that this isn't sustainable? Don't you?"

"What do you mean?" you mumble around the bite in your mouth.

"This is still January, and Paris just took over at the end of last semester," he elaborates. "The school year doesn't end till May, and her reign as editor doesn't end till November or December. There's no way she's going to make it till then."

"You really think she's going to get…Howell Rainesed?" you hiss under your breath, hoping no one, especially Paris, hears you.

"I don't see how it's avoidable," he answers. "How many people did you say quit?"

"Almost everyone. All the department heads, all the senior editing staff, the sports department, city desk, entertainment department, everyone on features but me, the whole copy department," you tick off.

"And you really think all those people are going to come back?" he asks, brow arched.

"No," you shake your head in agreement. "I don't."

"Neither do I," he replies. "You saw the looks on people's faces when she came out here to congratulate everyone, most were pissed off. Bill and Sheila both looked like their heads were about to explode; they wanted to humiliate her, even if it made them look bad in the process. I think there's going to be a meeting of the senior staff over the weekend, since there's no paper then, and early next week there will be a change."

"Who do you think will get it?" you ask, looking around the still buzzing, but starting to empty, newsroom.

"I have no idea, and really, I don't care all that much," he replies. "I've just gotta make it through the semester."

"It has to be a junior," you point out, "otherwise I would say they should pick you. You saved the paper."

"Oh, come on, Ace," he chuckles, and a little thrill goes through your body every time he calls you by his familiar nickname. You've missed it. "We both know that's never going to happen, and even if it did I wouldn't accept - Daddy would be too thrilled."

"We can never have that," you giggle. However, you know he's selling himself short, and trying to dodge his father's good graces is going to eventually cause him problems. You know he's talented; he's shown tonight it's not just an ability to write, but to organize and motivate as well. Leading comes naturally to him, it's a mantle he wears with grace and ease, it's just who he is. Eventually he's going to have to face that, Mitchum or no Mitchum.

"No, we can't," he agrees with a smirk. It's kinda ridiculous how much you've missed his smirk, but it's part of the Essential Logan. "Actually, if they get their heads out of their asses they'll pick you - you did orchestrate the paper being saved. I really just came in at the end and pulled things across the finish line."

"They can't pick me, not with my being out of school last semester," you point out. "And you did more than pull things across the finish line. If it hadn't been for you taking the bullet, we would have lost our spot in the print queue."

"Ah, yes," he rolls his eyes, "so difficult to invoke the name of Huntzberger."

"I know you hated doing that," you say softly, laying your hand over his. "Thank you."

"No, I didn't like it, but sometimes you have to take one for the team," he replies, his thumb brushing back and forth over the back of your hand. "And you're wrong - they couldn't do better than you as editor. I don't care if you took last semester off or not, you showed tonight you can inspire loyalty and hard work, unlike Paris, who just pisses everyone off."

"Thanks for the vote of confidence," you answer, pulling your hand away, and a few moments of awkward silence follow. You have a feeling he's as unsure as you are as to where the conversation should go. There's so much more to get through, but do you want to cover it all tonight? You have a feeling neither of you knows the answer to that question, but now there's time to figure things out. If you'd gone on the more traditional type of date you originally planned, things would have at least been more defined than with the two of you sitting together in the now rapidly emptying newsroom.

"Would you like more wine?" he asks, breaking the silence after a couple of minutes.

You nod yes. Silence hangs between you as he pours each of you both a glass; you haven't made a decision what to approach next when he takes the initiative with, "So, how are things with Lorelai?"

"Things are better," you say with a small smile, "but then they couldn't really get worse than they were, since we weren't speaking."

"I know that, but you've managed to fix things?"

"For the most part, I guess," you say, pulling on the sleeves of your cardigan, "I'm not sure things will ever be how they used to be, but then they haven't been the same since Dean and I got back together, really."

"Huh? Why?" he asks. "I thought you'd told me that Lorelai liked Dean. We are talking about the same guy, right? The one from the…"

"Male Yale party," you cut him off. "Yeah, that's Dean. I guess I thought I talked to you about this."

"I don't think so, not anything that would have caused a rift between the two of you," he replies. "I know he was your first boyfriend, you got back together at the end of your freshman year here, you lost your virginity to him…"

"While he was still married to the girl he got together with after he dumped me because I was interested in Jess," you say quickly. No, you never have shared that with him; it might have smudged the idealized picture of you he carries around in his head.

"Oh," he answers.

"Yeah, oh," you reply softly. "See, I'm not nearly as perfect as you think I am."

"Oh please," he waves you off. "We all make mistakes; it's not like I haven't made my share of them. Plus, should he really have gotten married at eighteen or nineteen? Was he really ready for marriage?"

"No, he wasn't," you agree, but continue, "but I also shouldn't have listened to him when he came crying to me - it's not like he told me anything particularly unique. She didn't understand him; she wanted him to work more so they could by a condo, which was making him have to quit school. I bought into all of it, that I got him, that maybe Jess had been a mistake. He was my first love; it was an easy, if stupid, thing to fall back into. Mom was livid."

"I can imagine," he quietly laughs. "But like I said, we all make mistakes."

"I know you've spent your life not living up to your parents' expectations, but that's not me. I was pretty much an angel till then. Yeah, I went through my bad boy phase with Jess - or maybe I never grew out of it," you chuckle, looking over at him. "I just fell for one that has blonde hair, not brown, and instead of coming from a poor dysfunctional family, you come from an equally dysfunctional, but fantastically wealthy one."

"I'm not Jess," he retorts.

"No you're not," you agree. "But you both have a bit of an edge and you're at times unmotivated, but incredibly intelligent. You do have things in common that apparently attract me."

"Fine," he grumbles, but you can tell he's not buying your hypothesis. "But dysfunctional families aren't exactly unique. No family is really the Brady Bunch, most have a bit of Addams in them."

"True," you laugh. "Thought the Addams were really just weird looking on the outside, they weren't emotionally dysfunctional."

"That is true," he laughs. "But most of us don't go through life without having disappointed our parents at least once," he continues. "Frankly, the fact that you did it after getting in college and not in middle school or high school is remarkable. I was rebelling from the time I figured out it was possible."

"I'm sure," you continue laughing - it does remind you of one of the things that made you fall for him to begin with, his sense of humor. "Mom wasn't pleased by what happened, really, she was livid."

"I can imagine," he nods. "I guess the thing that confuses me is why didn't you date anyone here, and end up losing your virginity to him? It's not like Marty wouldn't have been happy to oblige. And I'm sure he wasn't the only guy who would have stepped up to the plate."

"Freshman year was weird," you start, after thinking about what he asked for a minute, taking a couple of sips of wine. "I didn't really know how to function away from Mom or Stars Hollow. I went from being an entire town's perfect teenage angel and valedictorian at Chilton to being no one. I was lonely; I didn't really make friends. At least when I started at Chilton I was able to get on the bus every afternoon and head back home, to Mom, Dean - or later Jess - Lane, Luke's, and everything else Stars Hollow represents, but this time I didn't have anywhere to go. Haven't you ever wondered how your friends so easily became mine? I didn't really have any, outside Paris, and I've known her since tenth grade. Lane's my other best friend and I've known her since kindergarten. All I did was study, talk on the phone to Mom, go to class, and work on the paper. I'm not the most outgoing person, if you haven't noticed. I'm rather shy and a bit of a nerd."

"I know, but a beautiful nerd," he chuckles. "I seem to recollect calling you sheltered. And I was surprised as hell when you approached me at Emily and Richard's vow renewal. I thought Jill would be enough to keep you away."

"So she was there just to intimidate me?" you chuckle, somehow unsurprised.

"You were a scary prospect, Ace," he says softly, reaching over to brush the pad of his thumb across your cheek. "I think I knew even then you weren't going to be easily kept in the box I kept all my various female companions in. Your sense of humor and intelligence had already gotten under my skin more than usual, which I didn't like. I figured I could get in and get out with Jill, unscathed. But there you were, looking amazingly sexy in a _Victor-Victoria _kinda way, with your huge blue eyes, telling me exactly what I wanted to hear, what little defense I had couldn't withstand that."

"I'm Wonder Woman, huh?" you giggle.

"Complete with the golden lasso and bullet repelling bracelets," he laughs as well.

"I love her bracelets, they're so cool," you say. "I'm sure Mom would have been happier, even though she's never adored you, if I'd waited to lose my virginity to you. No one wants their only daughter to lose her virginity to a married man."

"Um, no," he tightly rebuffs. "Jill would have been an entire harem of Jills if I had really thought you were still a virgin. I wouldn't have danced with you, much less conned myself into believing you would be all right with a no strings kinda thing. Till you showed up at Finn's with Robert, I kept waiting for the other shoe to drop."

"You didn't like that," you chuckle triumphantly.

"No, I didn't," he agrees. "Though, I didn't like being jealous either. But, if I ever seriously thought you were a virgin, I'd have run the other direction so fast you wouldn't have seen anything but my cloud of dust. Your big blue eyes were far too innocent to start with for me. I'd generally preferred the slightly jaded flakes that wanted me to pay for a nice dinner for them, with just a mindless fuck at the end of the evening for reciprocation."

"Maybe," you reply, knowing that while he's telling you the truth, it's also what set you apart from his hoard as well. "But they didn't offer you any sort of a challenge either, they bored you. There was no chance of you getting in too deep with any of them, because they didn't want anything from you besides a fancy meal, a couple of nice gifts and some admittedly great sex," you tease, shooting him a mischievous smile. I didn't want any of those things, except the incredible sex," you continue softly, looking up at him through your lashes. "I wanted to get to know you."

"I know," he murmurs, cupping your cheek, drawing you toward his seeking lips. He starts tentatively, barely brushing his lips across yours. When you don't pull away, he begins to deepen the kiss, softly exploring your mouth, lightly nibbling on your bottom lip. His other hand moves from the armrest of your chair to your knee, his thumb sneaking under the hem of your skirt, causing the nerve endings to erupt as it brushes against your skin. He begins to deepen the kiss, seeking entrance to your mouth, which you allow, unable to resist rediscovering the familiar pleasure of his tongue sweeping against yours.

"Speaking of Thanksgiving," you murmur against his lips, pulling back, not wanting to get completely carried away. It's hard enough to think; your head feels a little fuzzy and lightheaded, and your body is tingling in all sorts of lovely places.

"Were we speaking of Thanksgiving?" he laughs tightly, continuing to draw circles just above your knee with his thumb, and you think perhaps he's trying to distract you, since you know he knows where you're heading.

"Not really, but we have to go there at some point," you return. "Why did you tell Honor we broke up? I know things were weird, I know we weren't talking. But I just told Mom and Lane that we were taking a break, that we would be figuring things out."

"Isn't that kinda what we're doing now?" he asks hopefully.

"Maybe, but that doesn't take away from what happened," you whisper. "When she called me to tell me she was sorry we had broken up, it hurt…a lot. I felt like I was just one of your…" you trail off, unable to continue around the lump in your throat.

"_Rory_…shit," he swears, pulling away from you and running his fingers through his hair. "You know that's not ever how I thought of you, of us."

"I didn't ever think that, till then. Even though we weren't talking, I knew I meant something to you. When she called me I felt like I was being dismissed like yesterday's news, I was birdcage liner, baggage," you accuse, angry tears starting to form in your eyes.

"_Rory_, _no_, he says emphatically, sitting up straight, scrubbing his face, and thinking a moment, then pulling his chair forward and putting his hands on the arms of your chair, as if to envelop you in his reassuring presence. "Okay, fine. Like I said I really just wanted to get her off my back," he finally says, looking down into his lap, "she kept asking me if we could all get together for dinner that weekend, since you weren't there for Thanksgiving, so I just told her we had broken up. I didn't really know what else to tell her, and I had to give her an answer. We hadn't talked for almost three weeks at that point - I didn't really think we were together anymore, anyway." He looks up at you probingly, his eyes trying to hold yours, pleading with you to understand. "Was I wrong? If I _had_ called you, what would you have done?"

"I don't know," you demur, looking down at your lap, beginning to fiddle with the sleeves of your cardigan again.

"If I had told her we'd had a fight, she would have bugged me till I told her what about, what happened, then she would have tried to fix it," he keeps going, and you see his head drop out of the corner of your eye. "Telling her we broke up was easier, fewer questions. She was pissed at me, since she assumed it was my fault and I've rarely been called an idiotic ass in so many different ways - but she also felt sorry for me. She knew I was drinking too much, trying to drown my sorrows. Plus, she could see me trying to move on, and not doing a very good job of it.

"I know this sounds completely lame," he continues, finally looking up and catching your gaze, with his warm, pleading, brown eyes. "But I think I needed to miss you as much as I did to finally realize I love you, because I do. Yes, I had felt that pull for a while, but I was still afraid of admitting it, naming it."

"When was that?" you ask, needing to know, curious as to his timeline, what made him finally surrender to his emotions.

"That I finally admitted to myself…?" You nod, urging him to continue. "Mid-December. Finals were over, the guys and some other people came over for an end of semester celebration, and I walked into the bathroom and immediately noticed one of your perfume bottles some girl had gotten out off the dresser in the closet and used, and I lost it, yelling at her for being inconsiderate and going through other people's things. They got rid of everyone, and then Colin, Finn, Rosemary, Stephanie, and Juliet proceeded to tell me how many kinds of a fool I am. Rosemary was brave enough to ask me why your stuff was there, anyway, which I answered with, 'If I got rid of all of it, there would be nothing left of you anymore,' and I couldn't handle that…"

As you listen to him tell you how he came to realize he loves you, you want to hold him, tell him it's all going to be fine, because for the first time you really do believe it is. The two of you are going to get through this, put all the pieces back together, and you suspect you'll be stronger in the end because it wasn't easy. It also reminds you of the box your mom tried to get you to put all your Logan-related stuff into, and you wouldn't. Couldn't even look at it even. It hurt too much.

"Sir, miss." A voice interrupts Logan's musings and your thoughts. You both look over to see the night janitor standing nervously in the doorway, trash barrel at his side. "I'm sorry to interrupt you, but you're the only ones left and I was wondering how long you will be?"

"Oh, my goodness," Logan says, "I guess we didn't realize it had gotten so late. We'll go so you can finish your work and head home." You both know the last rooms cleaned in this building every night are the paper's offices, so you're keeping him from being able to go home.

"Thank you," he replies. You gather up your trash, putting it in his large can, Logan pulling on his jacket and scarf after holding up your coat and scarf and helping you into them. You walk in a companionable silence through the cold night to where you left your car hours earlier at the Old Campus, not too far from his apartment building, his arm brushing against yours, causing the hair on it to stand up.

"I don't want to say goodnight, not just yet," he says, when you get to your car. "I can ride with you back to your place; you shouldn't be walking on the streets there by yourself this time of night anyway. I'll get my driver to follow us," he finishes, pulling out his cell phone.

You're not quite ready to admit to him how much you don't want to say goodnight either, how much you really want to just throw all caution to the wind and let him do what you both know he really wants, to take you up to his apartment and let him make love to you for the rest of the night. You know that's what you really want, too, from the aching pebbles that you can feel your nipples have already become, as if anticipating his attention, to the dampness between your legs. The red light on the sign down the street gives you an out - you don't have to say goodnight, and you don't have to confront your wants and needs just yet either.

"Look," you point eagerly, "the Krispy Kreme light is on, that means warm donuts."

"You want donuts?" he smiles.

"Yes please," you grin back, "that sounds wonderful."

"Well then, donuts it is," he agrees, wrapping an arm around your waist. You snuggle in - if he were to ask, you would say because of the cold, but you know it's mostly because it feels like home. You turn your nose to deeply breathe in his scent, which you've been wanting to do all night, since you first realized he's wearing your favorite cologne, not the one you know he prefers. It made your stomach flip when you first caught the fragrance, realizing he remembered something so seemingly trivial; now, feeling him lightly kissing the top of your head makes it flip again.

"Are you sure you need a large coffee?" he laughs after the worker leaves to fill your order. "I know that caffeine doesn't affect the Gilmore genes in quite the way that it does the rest of the population, but that will keep even you up half the night."

"I plan on being up for a while," you smile up at him, your decision made while you walked over here; you're going home with him. You want this, him, you.

"Oh, you have homework still?" he asks obtusely, though it is rather sweet how determined he is to not push you.

"No," you continue smiling, "I don't have homework."

"Oh," he replies after a moment of obvious confusion, your meaning finally dawning on him. "Are you sure?" he asks, brushing your hair off your cheek. "There's no rush."

"I'm very sure," you nod. "Pay the man so we can get out of here."

"Okay," he grins, his eyes sparkling and dimples flashing. Turning back to the counter, he says, "What do I owe you, and could I get a large coffee instead of small as well?"

While he's paying you raid the box for a perfect, hot, donut, letting the sugary confection melt in your mouth. He takes the box in one hand, his cup of coffee in the other, letting you get another donut before you head back out into the cold, a noticeable spring in both your steps - a purpose…a destination.

"Here." You rip off a piece of your donut and offer it to him.

"Mmmm, that's really good," he says, enraptured. "That might be the most delicious thing I've ever eaten."

"I don't think it's the donut," you return playfully.

"No, I don't think it is," he agrees, stopping to pull you toward him for a searing kiss. He tastes of sugar, coffee, and Logan.

"Come on," you urge against his lips after a moment, "it's really cold out here, and we're not that far from a warm apartment."

"No, we're not," he chuckles, whirling around and taking off down the street.

"Logan!" you call after him. "I'm in heels! They're not very high, but I'm still wearing heels, and they're hard to run in."

"Come on, Ace," he yells over his shoulder. "It's cold out here!"

"You're _insane_!" you yell back, giving up and running after him.

"Yeah, but you love it," he tosses back. He's right, you do.

You giggle as you run past the bemused doorman into his waiting arms. "Don't drop the donuts!" you instruct, as he gathers you close to him.

"I promise I won't, otherwise I'll probably be making another trip out in the cold," he laughs. "Come on, let's get upstairs. You're right, there's a warm apartment waiting for us," he says softly, guiding you into the elevator.

You expect him to pull you into a kiss - it wouldn't be the first time you've kissed in this elevator - but he doesn't, instead purposefully drinking his coffee, perhaps fueling himself for the night ahead. You take your cue from him, drinking yours as well while the elevator slowly climbs to the twelfth floor. He guides you off the elevator, to the door, letting you fish his keys out of his pants pocket so he doesn't have to set anything down, and your hand brushes his firmness, causing it to immediately react and twitch.

"Sorry," you mumble, cheeks flaming, focusing on getting the door open.

"It's quite alright," he demurs with a chuckle, obviously amused at your shyness, pressing himself up against your hip where you can feel his rapid hardening. He reaches in to kiss beneath your ear, nipping it with his teeth, his tongue soothing the sting after.

"Logan," you breathe, head falling to the side to give him better access.

"Mmm," he replies against your skin, nose nuzzling into your neck, kissing down to your scarf.

"The hall," you sigh, trying to focus. "We're still in the hall."

"You still need to open the door," he laughs against your skin, causing it to tingle.

"Oh," you answer, you'd forgotten. You open the door and both of you shuffle through. He seems intent on not letting you out of his grasp, nosing off your scarf and coat while still managing to hold the donuts in his hand. "Put them down," you instruct, wanting to rid him his burdens, mostly because you want not just his mouth on you but his hands as well.

"Okay," he says, detaching his lips from your neck and going to put his coffee cup and the donuts on the peninsula counter on the kitchen, dropping his coat and scarf over a stool. There are still a couple of lights on inside to guide his way, one behind the couch, another beside the bed, and he's swiftly back with you, pulling you firmly toward him, his lips diving toward yours, stealing your breath. Your tongues duel as you battle for supremacy, hooking an arm around his neck to pull yourself flush against his hard body. You both stumble a bit toward the raised bedroom area of the loft, toeing off shoes as you go.

"Wait," he murmurs, pulling back, his breath labored. "I want this, more than I can tell you, but I want to do this right. I want to make love to my girlfriend tonight, not my ex that I'm still trying to win back. I'm not saying I'm strong enough to send you back out that door, because I'm pretty sure I'm not, but I need you to know that's what I want here, not to just fuck you."

His language shocks you a little - he's never referred to your sex life as 'just fucking,' even before you were committed to each other, but then maybe that's his point. Things have moved faster tonight than you meant for them to, but you know you've made the right decision. It fits snugly, like that perfect puzzle piece. "That's what I want, too," you whisper, smiling up into his warm, coffee-colored eyes. The intense look that flashes through them causes an immediate pooling sensation between your legs, making you know you're probably more ready for him than you ever have been before.

The last time you undressed each other had also been in this room, a hurried whirlwind of shirts, pants and underwear, followed by an equally frenzied coupling, and you think it might have been less rushed if you'd both known it was going to be the last time. But you hadn't, never seeing the semi barreling toward you to upturn what you'd both convinced yourselves was a perfect little world. Looking back you realize it was really odds and ends and unfitting pieces jammed in to make something that functioned, but didn't really quite fit. Maybe you needed the upending to rearrange things and help put the pieces in their proper place.

So he kisses you slowly this time, thoroughly, nibbling at your lower lip, while his hands run up and down your sides, lingering at the curve of your hip. He pulls back, waiting for your eyes to open and focus on his. "I love you," he says gently.

You've never had reason to not believe him since he's declared his feelings for you, even if at first you tried to convince yourself they were unwelcome, but the warm sincerity of his eyes makes what he's saying settle over you like a warm blanket that shrouds your soul, protecting you, giving you warmth, keeping you safe. It makes it easy to let go of the last of your defenses against him and return softly, "I love you, too."

He smiles, never dropping your gaze, pulling the pin out of your hair, and working the eyed button on your cardigan, pushing it off your shoulders. You unbuckle his belt, pulling it through the loops, dropping it on the floor, then pull his sweater over his head, further mussing his already, always, mussed hair. His hands whisper up and down your arms, causing each hair to stand on end and feel like tiny individual electric sockets, then settle on your waist, pulling you back to him so he can kiss you again. Each touch brings back memories of times he's, you've, done this before, your first time together, the night you'd celebrated your commitment to each other, even the next night when you had quietly made love to one another to reassure and remind yourselves that what you had been through that night was worth it.

You pull back just enough to unbutton his shirt, wanting it off, wanting the barriers between you gone. He takes that moment to find the side zipper of your dress and pull it down, the snick of it the only sound in the room other than both of your labored breathing. You laugh, cutting through the silence of the room, when you can't get the cuffs of his shirt off, and now they're backwards because you forgot to unbutton them in your rush to get it off in the first place. You worry your lip as you bend over to undo the buttons, not realizing till you stand, smiling triumphantly, that he's pushed the straps of your dress off your shoulders, letting it drop to the floor and pool at your feet, leaving you in your strapless bra and panties.

"Rory," he breathes, wonder in his voice, a look of worship in his eyes. "You are so beautiful."

You're not sure what to say - no one's ever looked at you quite like that before, as if you are the center of his universe. Telling him he's beautiful, too, seems silly, but he is. Thanking him would make you sound like an idiot. Telling him you love him again would make it obvious that every coherent thought has left your brain. So you do the one thing your brain seems capable of instructing you to do. You run the tips of your fingers down his smooth, muscled chest to unbutton and unzip his trousers, letting them pool next to your dress on the floor. You both stare at one another for a moment, without shame. You're grateful you'd put on good lingerie tonight, just in case, your black bra pushing your breasts up, just in case - your black lace boy short, something you know he loves, and your black bra, which is pushing your breasts up, one nipple's areola just peeking out over the top. You're realizing just how much you've wanted this again, and just how much you've feared it would never happen. The way the light plays on the familiar planes of his chest, your gaze follows to his belly button, and the sprinkling of hair that peeks out above the band of his black boxers is a memory you tucked away in the recesses of your heart and mind, not wanting to deal with the possibility of it being something you would never experience again.

"I'm sorry," he says, pulling you out of your reverie.

"Logan…"

"No, I need to say this, before we go any further," he shakes his head. "I'm sorry for all the bull shit, for letting it all get so far, for being a dick, but mostly for leaving you there the way I did. It took me a while to even be able to look at myself after doing that, no matter what was going on with me, you deserved better than that. It's the one thing that I haven't been able to forgive myself for, the one thing I've been really worried you wouldn't be able to either."

"Logan," you whisper, brushing the pads of your fingers across his cheek, not really knowing what to say. He's right. That night was horrible, one of the worst of your life. You've chosen, however, to put it in the past, to focus on here and now, and maybe even the future, because right now not forgiving him isn't an option. You need him too much, and bitterness and anger make for too cold a bed partner. But he's left you speechless again, so you kiss him instead, and push his boxers down his hips, letting them fall to the floor, and caress him with your hand, telling him that way that you've forgiven him, even if he's not found a way to forgive himself yet.

"Rory," he says again.

You look up, making sure he's focused on you this time before beginning, "Shhhh, no more of that, not tonight. I want my boyfriend to make love to me."

He grins, acquiescing with an, "Okay." He runs a finger up from your belly button, over the top of your breast, lingering on the areola that's teasing him, trying to get free, then kisses your neck while undoing the back clasp of your bra, letting it fall to the floor. "You're so beautiful," he says, before hooking his thumbs in your boy-shorts and pushing down. They stick on the globe of your ass, causing him to chuckle and push harder, finally getting them to cooperate and fall to the floor where you kick them away.

He stares for a moment before starting at the backs of your hands and running his fingers up your arms, over your clavicles, down your chest to your sides, avoiding your breasts, down the curve of your hips, over your ass, the backs of your thighs, to come back to your hands again and twine his fingers with yours. He's taking his own sweet time, making you want to scream at him to get moving, except you want to know what he has planned, so you stay quiet.

He sits you down on the bed, kneeling in front of you; fingers still clasped, and finally, as if a whisper, kisses you again, then pulls back to once again begin his maddeningly light trailing of his fingers across your smooth skin. He trails from your feet, up your calves, to your thighs, trailing frustratingly close to where you most want him to touch you, a smirk breaking out on his face when your breath sharply intakes and you frown down at him in frustration.

"You will pay for that, Logan Huntzberger," you hiss.

"I promise I'll make it up to you," he returns, and then leans in to let his mouth join his hands in their exploration. He kisses across your clavicle and down your chest, taking the time to kiss around each of your nipples, and then latches onto each in turn with his lips, nipping them with his teeth to bring them fully erect, but soothing them with the flat of his tongue afterward. It's like he's making sure that everything fits his mental map of what you should look, feel, and taste like.

He keeps going, following the trail he had just made with his fingers, dipping his tongue into your belly button, then continuing down to plant a kiss on the soft curls where your thighs meet, and deeply breathing in your musky scent. He flicks his tongue out to briefly stroke your clit, and then continues kissing down the inside of one thigh. He continues down that leg, then back up the other, settling between your legs and pulling your ass forward to meet his to meet his nose. You know what he's planning on doing, and while you want it, you don't right now. Your head falls to one side as he lathes the flat of his tongue across your clit, lapping at your wetness, causing the blood to rush between your legs.

It would be easy to just let him keep doing what he's doing, but that's not what you want your first time back together - you want to be with him, not have him pleasure only you, no matter how much you love it, nor how much you know he enjoys doing it. So you run your fingers into his hair, pulling his head back from where it is burrowed between your thighs.

"What?" he asks, his eyes barely focused.

"You can do that later, if you really want to," you whisper. "But I want you inside me the first time we're back together"

"Okay," he agrees, straightening up so he can crawl up the bed, helping you push yourself up as well. When you're lying face-to-face you reach out to run your fingers down his arm and then lace them with his. "I almost can't believe we're here," he murmurs as he captures your lips again, and you can taste yourself on his tongue. One hand is in your hair, the other pulling your hips toward his. You throw one leg over his to give him better access, his hand coming around the curve of your hip to dip inside you to make sure you're ready for him. You are; you have been for a while.

He's looking straight into your eyes as he pulls your leg up and enters you. You try to hold his gaze, but can't when your eyes roll back in your head from the sensation. "Rory, baby, come back to me," he instructs, causing you to try to make the effort to focus on him. "Hey, stay with me," he says when your eyes are focused again.

"I'm trying," you mumble as he starts to thrust into you. He's deliberate, seeming to want to touch every place inside you, but you're getting impatient. You've let him take his time till now, so you tilt your hips and squeeze hard on him, causing him to moan deep in his belly, which sends a shudder through you, making you dig your fingers into his back, and thrust upwards. He redoubles his efforts, thrusting harder, and latching onto a nipple and sucking hard, causing you to throw back your head on the pillow and yell out his name.

Your sex life had always been good, but it had never quite been like this before. Maybe it's that you're not hiding anything from each other anymore, both of you are in a better place than you had been last fall, and you've finally admitted how you feel. But the firm strokes of him inside you as you hook your legs around his hips and tilt yours to help him find just the right angle, have never felt quite this right, fit quite this snugly, and yet it's completely familiar too, just more. But then, before, you've never babbled, "I love you, I love you, I love you…" as your muscles tightly hold onto him while you shudder and contract around him, while he chants your name over and over. He's never kissed your cheek and murmured in your ear, "I love you too," as he spills inside you, either. You've never just smiled at each other, foreheads touching, perfectly content, while after-shocks shiver through your bodies.

* * *

It's hours, many donuts, a late night Chinese delivery, and several orgasms later that you find yourself in the shower with him, water beating down on your front, leaning with your back against his chest, your arm snaked around his neck to hold you up, while several fingers of one of his hands stroke in and out of you, his thumb on your clit trying to increase the friction, his other cupping a breast and pinching the nipple, his lips sucking on the spot just below your ear that you love so much. You were supposed to be getting clean, since you are both now extremely tired, but the combination of the water and your naked flesh have distracted him.

"Come on," he murmurs into your skin. "Let go."

"I want it to last," you pant, grinding down onto his hand.

"It will, it can, forever. I love you," he says, as he pulls one finger forward to stroke against the spot inside you that makes resistance futile; you spasm around him, locking onto his fingers with your inner muscles, and pant through your orgasm.

"I…I…I…," you chant, unable to form a coherent thought, your hand slipping from around his neck to press against your temple as you lean your full weight against him, knowing that if he wasn't holding you up, you would slide to the floor.

"It was good?" he mumbles through the chuckle that you feel rumbling through his chest.

"Mmmm," you say, words failing you. It's not like he's ever not been a fabulous lover, but tonight he has been solely focused on you. Your wants, your needs, your pleasure. You don't want that all the time, but for tonight it has been wonderful.

"Come on, let's get cleaned up," he says, dropping to sit on the small built-in bench at the back of the shower, reaching for a puff and the mango-citrus shower gel that you bought months ago and like so much. He makes quick work of it, since you're already starting to fall asleep in his arms, then shutting off the shower and guiding you out. You each dry off, and then move into the closet-dressing room that's attached to the bathroom, and you can't help the grin that overtakes your face as he hands you your own pajama pants, long sleeve t-shirt, and panties from a drawer you long ago claimed as your own. Both of your hair is still partially wet when you climb in bed, probably not the smartest thing either of you have ever done, but suddenly you're both exhausted. You smile into his t-shirt covered chest as you're falling asleep, tired, but happier than you've been in months, placing a soft kiss on his heart, with a whispered "I love you."

* * *

"Rory, wake up," comes through the filter of sleep. You snuggle deeper into the pillow - you're having nice dreams of Logan making love to you, and you don't want to wake up just yet to your empty bed.

"Rory…Ace…you need to get up," again interrupts you, this time with a small shake of your arm. "You said you have class at eleven; it's nine-thirty now, and I have to leave in a few minutes - I have class at ten. I have coffee; I even got your favorite Kauai beans."

The aromatic smell of morning coffee breaks through the haze of sleep, you crack open an eye to the sunshine outside the huge window at your right, a large mug of coffee being waved under your nose, and a smiling Logan. "I didn't want to wake up," you mumble, "I was dreaming about us, we were making love."

"That wasn't a dream," he grins, dimples flaring, one finger rubbing back and forth on the back of your hand. "Or if it was, I had it too, and I don't want to wake up either," he says, holding out the coffee mug so it won't spill and leaning in to give you a good morning kiss.

"Ummm, no kissing!" you say quickly, pulling the sheet up in front of your face. "I have morning breath."

"If you think I care about morning breath today, you're crazy," he laughs, pulling the sheet away, and softly kissing you, despite your protests. "Good morning, Ace," he murmurs against your lips, pulling back to rest his forehead against yours.

"Good morning," you smile.

"Welcome home."

It takes you a few seconds to realize just how accurate his greeting is. Making up with your mother had healed something horribly broken inside you, but Stars Hollow isn't home anymore. It's with him - the one who makes you laugh, as well as cry sometimes, who challenges you to be more than you ever thought you could ever be, but is happy with just who you are. It's with the one who came after you, who fought for you when you knew you never would have had the courage to do the same. It hurt too much, and it was easier to focus on what was there - repairing things with your mother, getting your life and school back on track, and moving on - rather than on what was missing. But now, the final puzzle piece is in place. And maybe at some point someone or something will come in and over turn this perfect picture, but you have a feeling that if it does, he'll be there urging you on and helping you to find all the pieces and fit them back together again.

FIN

**Endnote **- I made a couple of very minor changes in this piece from when it was originally posted at BWR, Illusive & my lj. I can't even begin to tell y'all how excruciating it is for me to edit and/or reread smut that I've written.  
Reviews are loved and appreciated.


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